


Morning: the Farewell Tour

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dark!Ten, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wander_realtai  prompted "10/Rose, They finally "get it on", and she wakes up in his bed the next morning with no memory of who he is or why she's in bed with him. Angsty is good"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning: the Farewell Tour

**title: Morning: the Farewell Tour**  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
pairing: ten/rose  
rating: PG  
words: 490

note:[](http://wander-realtai.livejournal.com/profile)[ **wander_realtai**](http://wander-realtai.livejournal.com/)  prompted "10/Rose, They finally "get it on", and she wakes up in his bed the next morning with no memory of who he is or why she's in bed with him. Angsty is good"

 

 

===

He's watching her as she stirs.

She blinks muzzily, her hand pats the sheets, once, twice, and her eyes shoot open: confusion, concern.

He smiles, tentative. He's wearing a dark blue dress shirt, the top three buttons open, brown pinstripe dress slacks. His thick chestnut hair is all over the place, gorgeous.  His eyes are deep and broken.

"Morning," he says.

"Yeah?" she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes.  

He smiles, a skin of happiness frozen over a lake of darkness, cold and inexorable.

"I had a wonderful time last night," he says, his voice warm and easy.

"I hope I did too," she says, sitting up, with the sheet around tucked under her arms.

"Don't you remember?" he says, peering at her. Something in his voice is not as surprised as it should be.

"No," she says, wonderingly, vaguely.  Her eyes harden. "Did you drug me?" she says, accusingly.

"No," he scoffs. "Rose, I would never...!" he breaks off, blanching white.

"At least you know my name," she says.  

"Oh, oh," he says, and are those tears starting up in his eyes, "of course I do." His smile is more broken now than ever.

"But why — why can't I remember?" Rose says.  "I don't... I don't remember anything!  What happened — what did you do to me?"

"Nothing! Nothing more than I, than I had to—" he denies, and the tears escape, raining down his face....

"What? You did!  Oh my god, you drugged me! You pervert!"

"No!" he screams, and he sounds half mad now with grief.

She's trying to get away, flinging herself off the bed in the opposite side from him, staggering out the door, the sheet around her like a toga.  There are no women's clothes anywhere in the room.

"Oh, Rose," he sobs, scrubbing his hands across his face.  "How many times before I get it right?  I just wanted one last goodbye..."

Wearily he rises to his feet.  For a moment, he grimaces in pain, then keeps walking.  

A scream rings out from another room. "Why won't the doors open?  What is this place?  Who are you?"

His weary voice says, "Rose, be still," and her screams abruptly stop.

He carries her back to the bed, arranges the sheets, takes a deep breath.  He smooths her shining hair, whispers, "Rose, wake up."

A beautiful girl, blonde, maybe eighteen, and an alien, dying, desperate for one more night with the woman who owns his heart, though she hasn't met him yet — how many times will the scene replay before he gets it right?

Reapers bang against the doors and the cloister bells ring.

This time, he has to get it right.    
  



End file.
